


I'm Yours.

by fearless_seas



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, 19th Century CE RPF, American History RPF
Genre: Death, Emotional, F/M, Soulmates, True Love, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 22:58:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11746953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: Eliza spoke those same words on their wedding day, James still remembers how he whispered her name.





	I'm Yours.

**Author's Note:**

> I got a request from @thoughtfullytenacioussalad to do #59: “I’m yours.” for the Monroes.

**February 16th, 1786**

__________________________

 

          James Monroe leaned forward, gathering her hands in his, a palm located over the caress of her wrists. A smile etched the corner of his mouth, trembling at their height. She witnessed the brims of his eyes watering and she nibbled on the flesh of her lip, containing herself and the spilling tension that crawled up her throat. The fabric of her dress was clinging to her skin and she swallowed, the ground feeling as if it was shifting beneath her. Her heart leaped in her chest. 

          Eliza didn’t want to let him go. 

          The bible slapped shut, not hesitating a moment longer he collected her in his arms, fingers pressing into the arch of her back. She looked so beautiful, the rouge material flowing off her skin, matching the almost pearly shade of her cheeks. Their lips met and he knew her father rose at his place at the front row to his feet; he didn’t bother reminiscing of how he had no family there or how much she seemed to fill every inch of his heart. As they dreamed, she was the words that filled the ink of his pages. They did not break apart, her delicate fingers sliding down the back of his neck, lacing around his neck. His hands implemented themselves on her hips, squeezing further. 

          Eliza’s stunning eyes remained shut loosely, resting her chin on his shoulder, her inclined softly so that she could reach and there was gentle breath on his neck.

          “I’m yours.”, the words never caught in her throat, her kiss planted on the skin of his neck. He shuddered, his tongue revolving to sand, mouth falling dry and stolen of any words.  

          “Eliza…”

          In that satisfying moment, the world fixated upon them and Trinity Church seemed far smaller; opening upon this scene. 

______________________

 

**September 23rd, 1830**

______________________

 

          Everything seemed to ache. Every joint and every inch of skin, the fabric still weaving his heart together was beginning to unwind and she clutched a hand where she knew he was containing pain. Her fingertips swept across his cheek and there seemed to be not a single verse. The southern afternoon shifted through the curtains and across the tangled sheets, dying the sheets in a most amorous tincture. The air was still, the sweet scent of life drifting in from the parted window along with the breeze. They already knew everything each other wished to say. 

          Her pulse weakened and her eyelids were beginning to flutter shut. He caught her hand, weaving their fingers together, biting down tears that blurred the rims of his eyes. The pad of her thumb feebly stumbled up to brush against those tears, dropping to the bed. There was nothing left to say, everything was already know. He hovered closer and their noses brushed together at the bridge, he pressed his eyes shut, lips quivering and her touch grasped at them, holding them steady. James remembered just how brave she was and no sense of fear touched her countenance. 

          They skidded along the bed and their lips met, latching together. Both biting their tongue in an attempt to contain words. Oh how their thoughts could not linger long without bumping into pieces of each other. They released and his palms landed underneath her back. 

          “I’m yours.”

          Eliza struggled to form words but the end seemed to be catching at the teeth, her eyes shut and a reply came out as only a whisp of wind, “James…”

          A sob racked his ribs and his forehead fell to her chest. If he’d lived a thousand lives, felt a thousand times, he’d still fall for her every time. As the misery traced his sheath he clutched her closer to his heart and thought of how beautiful the February snow looked scattered across her raven hair; the first time they started a bigger life. 

          The world seemed too large without her; it seemed to close just below his feet.

**Author's Note:**

> Very short but I hope you enjoy, this is my favorite relationship in history. Comments are highly appreciated, thank you. 
> 
> HISTORICAL NOTES:  
> \- I love these two so much I remember their wedding day.  
> \- James and Elizabeth Monroe got married at Trinity Church.  
> \- Eliza's wedding dress was pink and I am in love with it.  
> \- After Eliza's death, Monroe sobbed over her body for hours hysterically and then when they buried her, he stated he would not leave the grave-site until he could go with her too. At home, he proceeded to burn all of her letters and cried feebly in his room for two weeks.


End file.
